Fear and Loathing in Los Angeles
by hoydenish
Summary: What if Hank hadn't slipped and fallen into Stu's fountain at the end of ...And Justice for All? What if, instead of three more seasons of pining for Karen, he chose Abby instead? A planned series of stories in an alternate universe, starting at the end of Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

Fear and Loathing in Los Angeles

Shit. It didn't seem to matter how much he tried to unburden his life of complications, the fuckers just snuck right back in and set up house. Take tonight, for instance. He had meant it as a simple gesture. Abbie, meet Hank when he's not balls-deep in your pussy and contemplating serious jail time. Of course it got fucked up. Simplicity wanted no truck with his life.

He sucked in the night air and concentrated on the stars, trying to slow their pinwheeling dance. Out in the canyons, LA's dome of light pollution didn't hold, and there were so many stars. A frightening number of stars. One star for every mistake he'd ever made. Drunkenness made him pitying and maudlin, which brought on a goodly amount of self-loathing.

She'd been right. Not about his fear of her availability, but about his love of ghosts. He'd danced on the blurry line of becoming a ghost himself today, and somehow managed to stumble onto the living side. And he'd wanted to celebrate. With her. Unnerving, how in the moment of his redemption, he'd gravitated towards her, even with Karen in the courtroom. And now he'd let her walk away. Fuck, he was getting tired of being such a predictable asshole.

"Lady lawyer!" he bleated out, surprising himself with his urgency. He slipped, stumbling for the pool's edge, but managed to right himself before taking a bath. He looked towards the house, trying to decide if she'd gone around or through to join Karen and Ben at their car. His shoes and jeans were sodden, and the stars were still spinning in front of his eyes, but he managed a clumsy jog and trailed water into the marble-floored foyer.

"Councillor!" he called out to the empty room. Beyond the front door, he could make out a set of tail-lights retreating down the driveway. Motherfucker. He ran out front.

"Abbie!" he was bellowing now, panicky and chill, although he couldn't fathom why. He could always call her tomorrow. Apologize and explain. He was a ninja at apologizing and explaining.

"Hank?" The voice behind him sounded like whiskey. No wonder he couldn't stop drinking her. He spun and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her hard to his mouth, bending her neck back against his hand. He was going to kiss his relief right down into her toes.

"You saw what a sorry excuse for a car Ben drives, and you couldn't get in, could you? What was it, a Prius?"

"Leaf." she grinned at his noxious look. "Actually, I was thinking about your car, and how likely it was you'd wrap it around a tree if you drove it back into town."

"Your concern for my physical well-being warms my cockles. Or my cock. You definitely warm my cock."

"I don't think your cock could withstand much more heat, given that you've probably got jet fuel running through your veins by now. And the reason I stayed behind was entirely self-serving. You can't write a cheque for my fees if you're dead."

"So I'm on the clock? What's your hourly rate for watching me make a complete ass of myself?"

"Oh, that's pro bono."

"I'm in favour of pro boner work. Servicing the community, and whatnot."

"And whatnot. Give me your keys."

He slid liquidly into the passenger seat and watched her remove her shoes, then adjust the seat.

"Are you sure you meet the minimum height requirement for this ride?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Well, it didn't seem to be a problem when I was riding you earlier."

"Everyone's the same height lying down."

She slid her eyes up him slowly. "No, you're taller than most, even lying down."

"Keep flattering me like that, and I'll do my best not to puke on you later."

She shifted the Porsche into gear and began the winding trip back down the canyon. Her free hand caressed the inside of his knee easily as she drove, and at one point he covered it with his own. His fluency in gratitude was poor, but he'd be all kinds of a fool to go running after her and then not even try.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke in a white cocoon. His mouth felt mothballed, and he was badly in need of a spinal adjustment. The tang of sex was on the sheets, and he tried to remember last night's events. Fucking Abby was generally quite memorable, but his recollections consisted of her stopping the Porsche twice on the drive home so that he could open the passenger door and hurl on the pavement, showering fully-clothed in the dark, and the tickle of Abby's hair on his thighs as he lay prone on a spinning carousel. She had a carousel in her apartment? Kinky.

He hauled himself to sit at the edge of her bed, scanning for his clothes. Finding nothing, he wrapped a sheet around his waist and lumbered to the bathroom, where his shoes lay next to the shower stall. One memory nailed down. He drank greedily from the tap, then squeezed a line of toothpaste onto his finger, swiping ineffectually at his teeth and tongue. Abby seemed pretty unaffected by his liberal interpretation of personal boundaries, but something told him she drew the line at sharing a toothbrush.

In the kitchen, he found freshly brewed coffee and a note, written in her controlled, loopy script. She was at a pre-trial conference, and his clothes were in the dryer. He took his coffee to her patio and sat in the mid-morning sun, trying to come back to life as slowly as possible, so as not to awaken his incipient headache. Whither now, Hank Moody? he wondered. He needed to write, which was unfortunately no predictor of the likelihood that he'd write anything. But he'd already burned through his Fucking &amp; Punching advance, and he had to pay his court fine and Abby's fees. Everything in LA seemed tainted by the bitterness and panic of the past months and his trial, his lovely former lawyer notwithstanding. He couldn't stay. He actually felt there was a chance that he could have something more than transient with Abby, if he could just get his shit together. She challenged him and didn't put up with his garbage. The sex was amazing, but better yet, he enjoyed her conversation, even when they weren't fucking. She carried none of the baggage of his past failures, and he could actually tolerate himself in her company. Something would inevitably happen, though, and he'd end up fucking up again. She'd made it pretty clear at the party last night that she wasn't interested in him if he couldn't let go of the past, and he simply didn't know if he could.

Karen and Becca were on the road somewhere, driving off with Ben. It still curdled his gut, but sitting here in the sunlight, he felt a certain amount of emotional distance. The night before his trial in their former bed had been, as he predicted, sad. Poignant and sad. Like saying goodbye to a dream that had sustained him for over sixteen years and waking up to the nightmare that he'd made of his life in the meantime. But he believed her when she said it was over. It wouldn't be like Karen to involve herself with another guy, if she thought there was anything left for them to salvage, especially after the disaster with Bill. At a certain point, if he truly loved her as he professed to, he was going to have to acknowledge that he hurt her more by trying to resuscitate their relationship than he ever had when they were involved.

He couldn't stay. That's what it boiled down to. He was going back to New York. He'd ask Abby to petition the court for the right to leave the state, complete his community service, and then pack his few possessions in the back of the Porsche and head east. The promise of momentum, of leaving the flotsam and jetsam of his disastrous years in Los Angeles behind him, buoyed his spirits more than he imagined possible. Finishing his coffee, he went in search of his clothes. He was about to leave, then doubled back to the kitchen, turning over her note and writing as legibly as he could on the back.

Gone to sort out my shit. Could take some time, so don't wait up. Thank you, for everything. Hank.


	3. Chapter 3

She was surprised to see Hank slouching in the post-modern leather chairs of her firm's reception area one afternoon. More shocking was his appearance. He still wore his uniform of jeans and a black shirt, and his hair still spoke of unwashed lunatic hedgehog, but he was otherwise a different man. His eyes were alive, his palour less ashen, and while he still inhabited his coltish body with casual disdain, it now read as insouciant, rather than beaten. Only two weeks had passed since she'd left him sleeping it off in her bed after Stu's party, but they'd obviously done him a world of good. She wondered briefly if he'd reunited with Karen, but then remembered that Karen was not around.

He stood as she approached, and graced her with a rare smile. If he was trying to uncentre her universe, he was off to a good start.

"What's a guy have to do to get legal representation in this mortuary you call a workplace? I've propositioned three passing lawyers, and still no blow job."

"Hi, Hank. It's good to see you."

"Abby." She could tell by the way he drew out her name that they'd be spending the better part of the night finding new and better ways for their bodies to fit together. She struggled to maintain a façade of decorum.

"What brings you to Century City?"

"I actually have need of a lawyer who is skilled not only in the fellatian arts, but also in more practical legal matters. Your name came to mind."

"Please tell me you haven't broken probation already."

"No, not yet. Unless drinking to excess and then picturing you naked is a violation of my probation, in which case, yes, I have. Repeatedly. Actually, it's my probation that I need to speak to you about. Do you have a few minutes? I probably should have made an appointment, but …"

"You weren't sure if I'd have seen you?"

"Something like that."

"I'm actually done for the day. Come into my office, and we can chat."

He followed her down the hallway, trying to focus on something other than the feline swing of her hips. His mouth watered, and he craved a cigarette to calm his nerves. Once in her office, he sank into a chair and his skin hummed as she ran her hand along the back of his shoulders before sitting next to him, instead of behind her desk. She was a master of unspoken cues, and he read this one loud and clear. He was here as her friend, or perhaps erstwhile lover, and her role as his lawyer was purely auxiliary.

"So, you needed advice about your probation?"

"Before we get into that, I wanted to know if you were free for dinner."

"Oh."

"It's short notice, I know, so if you've got other plans …"

"Nothing that can't be rescheduled."

"He's not as good in the sack as I am, is what you're saying."

"My yoga instructor? I dunno. He's pretty limber."

He gave her a mock insulted, defiant look.

"Before I accept, Hank, I need you to tell me something."

"Seven and half inches. Eight, if you're grading on a curve."

Ignoring his joking, which she'd come to realize was actually his peculiar way of being nervous, and thus oddly endearing, she soldiered forward.

"I need to know if you knew Karen was going to be at that party. With her date."

His eyes went serious and grey, and his lips pursed in contrition, so she prepared herself for bad news. She wasn't in a place in his life where she could demand that he put his past behind him for her, but she also wasn't interested in being used as a weapon in whatever emotional war he was waging with his ex.

"I know we've only known each other for a short while, and that short while has spanned some of the lowest lows of my life, but I hope you realize that I would never … it's not my style to use people like that, Abby. Especially people I happen to like. I invited you to that party because I enjoy spending time with you, and it felt like the right moment for some of that time to be out of bed. And then Karen and Ben showed up, and I felt like I'd been set up for failure, but I'm not sure who I can blame for that. It all went sideways from there."

He raised his hands in a gesture of futility, and she caught one in her own, playing with his long fingers.

"Are you still staying at the hotel?"

"Yeah, just for another few days. Then I'm leaving for New York. That's what I needed to ask you about. I need to fast track the paperwork to have my probation migrated. Is that something you could handle for me?"

She waited a few moments before answering, allowing the rapid pounding of her heart to calm. She unconsciously grasped the hand she was still holding, as though to anchor him in place.

"You only need to do that if you're making New York your permanent residence. Is that what we're talking about?"

"As permanent as any place I lay my head, I suppose. I'll still be back in LA regularly to see Becca, but I don't plan on living here for the foreseeable future."

She'd been wondering how to measure her feelings for Hank, and he'd just presented her with a sensitive instrument. Judging by the hollowness opening up just below her diaphragm, she'd been blindly optimistic when she characterized him as an intriguing but ultimately shallow fling. He'd crept close quietly, and now he was slipping away.

"You'll need to have completed the rest of your sentence. The community service and the fine." She was trying vainly to retain some professional detachment, and she let go of his hand, in case he could feel the slight tremors.

"That's what I've been doing over the past couple weeks. I've got two days of community service left, and Charlie just sold the rights to my next novel today, so I'm solvent again. Now I just need my kick-ass lawyer to convince my probation officer I'm not a flight risk."

"Where'd you do your community service?" she asked, curiousity temporarily overcoming her crushing disappointment.

"Umm, at a literacy project. In Lynwood." he seemed abashed at the admission, and she waited for the inevitable off-colour joke, but none was forthcoming.

"Wow. That's … Okay. You seem to have thought of everything. I'll see what I can do about the probation paperwork. Honestly, the probation office here is so overloaded, I doubt they'll give you a hard time. And the fact that you'll be coming back to visit your daughter helps."

"Good. I mean, that's great. I really appreciate it. So, does the fact that I'm leaving town make me more or less appealing as a dinner date?"

"I'd say that your appeal has very little connection to your travel plans."

"I'll take that in the laudatory sense that I'm sure it was intended. My hotel? Eight o'clock?"

"Sure."


	4. Chapter 4

The hotel room door swung closed quietly behind them as he pinned her against the adjoining wall, holding her there with his hips as he lifted her skirt roughly while eating the overripe fruit of her mouth. Her hands scrabbled down his chest and found his fly. Without forewarning, her panties were pushed aside and his cock was inside her, all liquid slide and tensing muscles. It wasn't a moment for finesse, and the fact that they both came quickly spoke more of desire than technique. After a few minutes straightening up in the bathroom, Abby emerged to find Hank holding open the door, gesturing towards the hallway.

"Let's grab that dinner, before I decide to stay in and eat you instead."

Standing in the elevator, she debated and rationalized before finally taking his hand. It was warm and felt oddly familiar, and he surprised her by not drawing it away as they crossed the lobby to where the valet waited with the Porsche.

Dinner was at an understated seafood restaurant in Silver Lake. They each said very little of significance during the meal, a tacit agreement that serious talk could wait. Watching him recount some off-colour tale with a deadpan expression and lewd gestures, Abby was once again struck by his changed appearance. In fact, his overall demeanour seemed altered. He was still all nonchalant wit and ribald remarks, but the undercurrent of frantic deflection was gone.

They took their after-dinner drinks to sit in the lounge, and she finally couldn't defer any longer.

"I spoke to someone I know in the probation office, and they're going to file your paperwork first thing tomorrow. Barring any unforeseen issues, you should be free to hit the open road by the weekend."

"You work fast. Do you treat all your statutory rape clients this well, or just the ones you're sleeping with?"

"I'll admit to moving your stuff the top of the pile."

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"Hardly."

"Abby …. I feel like I should do something I'm generally not in favour of doing. Explain myself."

"You don't have to. I think I get it. New York is home. It's a place to pick up the pieces."

"It's also three thousand miles away from you. I'm not going to pretend that hasn't crossed my mind."

"It's three thousand miles away from your daughter and her mother, too."

"Yeah. Look, you and I met at the most inopportune of times, although I don't know what an opportune moment would have looked like. I feel like I've been redlining the engine for so long, it's about to blow up. But at the same time, I've been stuck in neutral, and I've got absolutely nothing to show for the damage. I don't even know how to rebuild a life from the total wreckage I've made of everything up until now, but I do know I won't even try unless I get far away from LA."

"From Karen."

"Yeah, from Karen too. But that's impossible, since she's my gateway to Becca. But at least in New York it'll be harder to fall back into the old, tired routine of trying to redeem myself in her eyes, and then getting so fucking angry at the world when I keep failing."

"I don't know why I'm telling you this, but she came to see me at my office. When I'd decided to drop your case. She struck me as a woman who understood you incredibly well, and she obviously loves you deeply. I don't think she was ever expecting you to redeem yourself. She just wanted you to stop hurting."

"Uhhh, thanks. That's … that's very decent of you to say. Especially under the circumstances. Karen and I have both made so many mistakes that the thread that would lead us back to someplace worthwhile is just hopeless tangled. But I obviously have issues just putting things down and letting them be."

"I never would have guessed that about you."

He smirked, and swirled the last of his whiskey in the tumbler.

"So, I guess that answers your earlier question. About what you're dealing with. I'm what the kids these days are calling "emotionally unavailable". Personally, I call it "too fucked up to date". I'd apologize for dragging you into my sordid little tale, but I can't seem to work up the decency to be regretful. You're an amazing woman. If I were foolish enough to picture what kind of relationship I'd want for myself, if I ever got my shit in order, she would bear a startling resemblance to you."

"Hank …"

"Just, do me a favour, okay? Let's not talk about the what ifs and the whens, alright? Because I have no grounds for believing that I'm going to be any less of a mess in the foreseeable future, and I don't think I can stomach being a brutal disappointment to yet another woman I don't deserve. I know everyone thinks writers live for that angsty shit, but enough is a-fucking 'nough."

"If that's the way you want to play it."

"That's the only way I know how to play. Look, it's getting late, and it's a school night for you, councillor. Let me drive you home."

They drove in silence through the mild, bruised-sky night. Killing the engine in front of her apartment, he turned to watch her.

"I could invite you in."

"You could. I'd be gone when you woke up, though. I'm much too cowardly for emotional goodbyes."

She smiled knowingly, and seemed to consider for a moment before speaking.

"Goodbye, Hank. I hope, for your sake, that you find what you need in New York. And I hope that if that happens, you look me up. You're an incredible, albeit deeply messed up man. You were right about one thing, though. There's room in my happily-ever-after for the right dude. Safe travels."

She held his face between her hands and kissed him, first on the lips, then on each eyelid, before getting out of the car and walking into her apartment building without a backwards glance. It was only after the sound of her retreating footsteps had faded that Hank spoke.

"Goodbye."


End file.
